Isaac's Gatlin
by Garbage and City Lights
Summary: Set 2 years before Burt and Vicky's interference in Gatlin. How were things -before- Isaac went completely power-hungry? And why were there children in Gatlin who "hid out" and took no part in the killings? Here's my take on it--and who's behind the un
1. Nightmare

--BWA HA! WRITER'S BLOCK, YOU HAVE BEEN DEFEATED AT LAST! ...ahem. But anyway. After reading a fic-in-progress by my good friend (and fellow Micah-obsessee) Rachael, inspiration FINALLY hit and I was blessed with this idea. I do not own COTC, Isaac, Micah, Jedediah-- aw, hell, I don't own anyone except Rebekah. I made up the real names; the only ones that I took from the original COTC short story are Isaac and Malachai's supposed names. Oh, and do be aware -- this will be fairly short. Sort of like Isaac... heh!--  
  
The little boy whimpered quietly in his sleep.  
"Mama. Mama." He gripped the sheets a little at first, then clenched them tightly as the nightmare took a turn for the worse. "Mama! MAMA!"  
"Nathan!" The voice came out of the darkness suddenly, startling the little boy from the nightmare. The young woman in the doorway ran towards him, and in his panic he shrank back.  
"Mama," he repeated, fighting sobs. The girl faltered, seeing his response, then put one hand on his hair.  
"It's me, Nathan honey," she murmured soothingly. The little boy blinked dark eyes. All at once he recognized her; he knew where he was and what had happened. He threw himself forward into her arms. The young woman hugged him tightly, rocking him carefully back and forth. "Quiet, sweetheart. It's all right. It's all right." The little boy grasped her sleeves in his fingers.  
"I-- I had a dream--"  
"It was only a dream," she said softly, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Dreams can't hurt you. I've told you that." There was a short silence.  
"I know." He sounded sulky, sniffling through tears. "I want Mama." The young woman paused.  
"Me too, Nathan." She kissed his mop of dark hair again and pulled away. "Are you okay? Do you think you can sleep now?" The little boy sniffed again.  
"Yeah," he muttered, "I'm okay." The girl smiled gently.  
"Don't worry about it," she murmured, running her hand over his hair. "Everyone has nightmares every now and then." The young woman patted his head and got to her feet. "Go on back to sleep, honey." His voice came from behind her, quiet.  
"Okay. I'll try." She began for the door.  
"Goodnight, Nathan." Her hand fell on the knob, but the little boy piped up again.  
"Rebekah?" The girl winced visibly, then turned.  
"What, Nathan?" she murmured, leaning against the doorframe. The little boy stared at her solemnly. The nightmare had been so frightening that tears were still rolling from his dark eyes, running streaks down his pale cheeks.  
"Isaac says that's not my name anymore," the little boy whispered. "Isaac says my name is Micah. He says it is a name of great honor, because Micah was a prophet that the Lord spoke to." The young woman's lower lip trembled; then she smiled. It was a warm, gentle smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.  
"That's right. I forgot. Goodnight -- _Micah." _The little boy nodded, then rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. The young woman watched him for a moment. _"Nathan," _she added under her breath, and shut the door behind her.


	2. Micah's Hero

--...don't yell at me! Yes, a certain character is going to be... well, out of character for this story. True, I always give villains a nice side, but in this fic -- it had to be avoided. Forgive me, everyone. This is going to be a fun, serious fic! ...still don't own COTC, Isaac, Micah, or Jedediah. I own Rebekah, and that's all. Don't sue me, Stephen King -- God knows I love you!--  
  
Micah was calm enough when he woke up in the morning. Last night's horrible dream lingered for only a moment as he sat there in bed, rubbing his eyes. He felt a very dim, very fuzzy horror pass over his sleep-blurred mind. And then it was gone. Micah stretched, yawned, and hopped down to the floor.  
"Becky," he called, voice echoing eerily in the empty, silent house. Micah paused and rubbed at his nose idly. "Beck-_ee," _he repeated, starting to trot down the stairs.  
"In the kitchen, Nathan." He bumped down the last few steps, frowning in irritation.  
"_Becky_," said the nine year old irritably. His sister looked up at him from beneath blondish bangs.  
"Sorry." Something in her voice made it clear that she wasn't, but Micah plopped down at the table anyway.  
"Has Isaac come yet today?" Rebekah's gray-blue eyes hardened.  
"No, Micah," she answered quietly, glancing back to her paperback novel. "He hasn't." The little boy popped out his lower lip and pushed black hair out of his face.  
"Is he coming at _all?" _he asked impatiently. Rebekah kept her gaze on the book.  
"Don't know, don't care." Micah sighed in frustration, leaning his elbows on the table. He never understood why his sister didn't like Isaac, but it was very clear that she didn't. The little boy always saw the coldness that crept into her eyes when the name was mentioned, and even at Isaac's meetings she didn't pay attention like the rest. Rebekah would simply keep one firm, steady hand on the back of Micah's neck -- and _glare._  
"Mean," he muttered under his breath. One sand-colored eyebrow was raised over the top of her paperback.  
"What was that?" Micah looked up at her sulkily.  
"You're being mean." Rebekah turned a page.  
"To who?" she asked calmly, not at all phased by his accusation. "You?" The little boy paused, fingers drawing idle designs on the tabletop.  
"No," he said slowly. "To Isaac." His sister didn't even flinch.  
"Mm? Go on." She was in an odd mood this morning; very cool, very collected. Very interested in that book she was holding. Micah squinted to read the title -- _The Picture of Dorian Gray -- _and glanced back at Rebekah.  
"He's a very good leader," the little boy said tentatively, shifting with the impatience that children have. "Isaac has kept us safe and-- and happy for a long time." His sister lowered the paperback slowly.  
"How long?" It was a deadly question. It was almost certain that she was setting him up for something. Micah shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  
"That's not--"  
_"How long?" _she asked again, and he decided he did not like cool-and-collected Rebekah. He liked warm-and-gentle, kind-and-understanding Rebekah. Not this one.  
"I don't know!" Micah cried, distressed. Rebekah watched him for a moment, one long slender finger acting as a bookmark in the pages of _Dorian Gray._  
"One year, five months, two weeks, and four days." She watched him for a moment with her gray-blue eyes before looking back down at her book. "_That's _how long it's been since--"  
"Since the adults were struck down by the hand of God," Micah finished hurriedly. It was obviously not what she had been planning on saying, but Rebekah didn't correct him.  
"All right," she said quietly. "If that's what you want to say." He suddenly felt very confused and very alone; Micah's dark eyes filled with tears.  
"You're mean, Becky," he murmured in a trembling voice. The little boy wiggled down from the chair, sneakers hitting the kitchen tiles with a dull thud. Almost immediately, there was a sound of the paperback falling on the table.  
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Rebekah hugged him from behind -- a desperate, frightened hug -- and pressed a light kiss against his cheek. Micah relaxed; _this _was the Rebekah he knew.  
"It's okay." He turned around and hugged her properly. "And you're not mean, not really."  
"Thank you," she said, almost laughing. Rebekah kissed his cheek again, then ruffled his hair. "Isaac probably won't be by 'til later, maybe around lunch. You want to go outside and play 'til then?" Micah nodded cheerfully, his bad feeling fading.  
"Yeah! Where--"  
"Outside already," she responded promptly, and picked up her book again. "They woke up before you -- as usual, lazybones." The little boy trotted towards the stairs.  
"I'm going to get dressed and go look for them, okay?"  
"Sure thing." Rebekah glanced at him briefly, then looked back at the pages. "I'm not running to get you if Isaac comes, though. If you're not here when he is, it's too bad."  
"Yes, Becky," he chirped, hurrying back towards his room. In a matter of minutes, he was dressed, brushed, and ready to find Mordechai and Jedediah.  
  
Rebekah watched Micah scamper outside over the pages of her book. He had changed in the past year, five months, two weeks, and four days -- but not drastically. He was still the same sweet, shy, beautiful little boy that her parents had given birth to and named _Nathan. _He didn't seem to want to acknowledge that now; sure, he was still sweet and shy and beautiful -- but his name was Micah now, and it seemed as if their parents had never existed. Isaac was his idol now. That angered Rebekah more than anything, the fact that the short, loud, overly-opinionated psychopathic twerp had replaced Daddy on Micah's mental pedestal Because that was all Isaac was, a short, loud, overly-opinionated psychopathic twerp who'd_ killed her parents and everyone else's--_  
  
STOP.  
  
She dropped the paperback on the table and ran a hand through her long, dusty-blonde hair. There was no point, absolutely _no point _in mulling over the past like that. Not when she had Micah to worry about. Rebekah heaved herself from her chair and ambled towards the window. There he was, a little head full of black hair bobbing up and down as he hurried into the cornfields to look for his friends. That was all _he _had to worry about; that his friends were there to play with, his sister had food on the table every night, and his beloved teenage preacher/psychopath/best buddy always knew the right words to say. _If only it were so easy, _Rebekah thought grimly.  
  
"Good morning, Rebekah."  
  
The girl whirled, taken by surprise and angry because of it.  
"Isaac, you little bastard," she snapped, and he grinned.  
"That's not nice," Isaac murmured, walking slowly towards her. Dressed in black as usual, she noted, and his mop of dark hair didn't help the macabre look at all. Rebekah jerked her head back in an irritated nod.  
"It probably wouldn't be nice of me to give you a good hard knee in the crotch either." She gave him a pursed little smile. "But God knows I'd do it anyway." Isaac didn't respond; he kept smiling pleasantly. Rebekah turned away from him and turned on the sink, running hot water. "Besides, I think you could use it."  
"So _cold." _Something in his tone unnerved her. She whirled to snap something, but he was holding the dirty breakfast dishes obligingly towards her. Rebekah took them grudgingly.  
"Thank you," she muttered, dropping the plates in the sink.  
"You're most welcome." Isaac was silent for a moment before leaning comfortably against the counter to watch her scrub the dishes. She gave him a sidelong glance and frowned.  
"Your work here is done." It sounded like a dry attempt at a joke, but there was no humor in her voice. "Go on, get out, you little--"  
"Careful what you say, Rebekah dear," he said pleasantly, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her scowl darkened, but she didn't jerk away. It was what he wanted.  
"Careful what you touch, Isaac dear," she responded promptly. He didn't take the hint; Isaac's hand crept down to her side.  
"So _cold," _he repeated. "Why are you so cold, my child?" Rebekah stiffened, still not brushing him off. She would _not _let the little twerp see her flinch.  
"Only towards you." She smiled sweetly and continued scrubbing at the plate. The scrambled eggs had been washed off long ago, but it was more of an action to simply seem busy than anything else.  
"I've noticed." Isaac paused, his hand lingering on her waist. "I saw young Micah playing in the corn before I came in."  
"Before you _let yourself _in," Rebekah corrected, feeling a flare of hot anger. Isaac had ordered Malachai to disable all the locks on the houses in Gatlin, so there would be no secrets kept from them. Yet another thing that made her hate him.  
"Have it your way, Rebekah," Isaac said amiably, and his hand began to move southward.  
  
Her self-control went up in flames.  
  
Rebekah seized Isaac roughly by the arm that possessed the perpetrating hand and twisted it behind his back. In doing so, she slammed his midsection into the counter, resulting in a grunt from both of them.  
"_First _of all," she said in a low growl, mouth next to Isaac's ear, "my name is not Rebekah, it's Ellen. And _second _of all--" Rebekah twisted his arm a little further.  
"Ow," Isaac said, his tone almost bored.  
"_Second _of all," she repeated, angrier than she could ever remember being, "if you _ever _touch _anything _that you have not been invited to touch--" Unable to help it, she twisted his arm just a little more.  
_"Ow," _he repeated.  
"--you will find yourself missing a few _vital _body organs. Got it?" Isaac didn't respond; Rebekah put just a tiny bit more pressure on his arm. If she twisted it any further, it was liable to be broken. Not that that wouldn't give her any pleasure -- but there were no real doctors in Gatlin anymore, and she didn't want Isaac to drag around a bleeding, broken limb for the next few days.  
"Oh, yes," he responded pleasantly. He sounded as if they were discussing whether there would be dinner tonight. Rebekah released his arm at last and backed away.  
"Good," she muttered, turning towards the sink. Isaac leaned against the counter again, back in the same position as before -- except now he was rubbing his shoulder thoughtfully. Outside, children's voices could be heard; Micah had found the curly brown-haired Jedediah, and the two of them were scampering around the cornfield, apparently seeking out Mordechai.  
"Beautiful child," Isaac said pensively. Rebekah rinsed off the dishes and set them in the now-drained sink to dry.  
"Yes, he is." She paused, watching the little boys play, and smiled involuntarily. Isaac glanced at her, a sideways smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.  
"I wasn't talking about Micah." Rebekah turned her darkest glare on him.  
"Get _out, _Isaac," she said softly. He smiled politely and walked towards the front door.  
"Certainly, Rebekah." Isaac's dark eyes watched her for one long moment before he took the knob in his hand. "I will see you tonight, I presume?" She dried her hands calmly with a towel to keep them from shaking.  
"Only if Micah wants to come."  
"Oh, he will," Isaac said quietly, still smiling. "He always does." And out the door he went. Rebekah glanced out the window to make sure he was leaving. As she did, she twisted the towel tighter and tighter in her hands -- wishing as hard as she could that she _had _broken his arm.  



	3. The Wisdom of Malachai

--Don't own Jedediah, Micah, Malachai, or Isaac. I own Rebekah and the soon-to-be-introduced Abraham. ...that's all. Oh, wait, one more thing: Ryan Bollman and John Franklin, you are both great actors and I love you! ^_^ Sorry, it was impossible to avoid.--  
  
Micah dodged around the nearest stalk of corn.  
"Jedediah," he called, and there was a giggle. "Jedediah!" Micah paused, listened very closely, then darted to his right. He hadn't expected him to be so close, but close he was, because Micah ran face-first into the soft cotton fabric of a plaid shirt. There was a grunt and two surprised cries as the little boys tumbled to the husk-littered ground.  
"Ow," complained Jedediah, pushing a curl of brown hair out of his eyes. "That hurt. Why'd you run into me so hard?"  
"Why didn't you run away?" Micah countered as he got to his feet. He brushed off his black pants carefully. They had been given to him by Isaac; his outfit nearly mirrored the older boy's. Isaac had told him it was a great honor to be so blessed as he. Micah never knew quite what he was talking about, but the teenager had paid him attention and given him clothes to wear. He admired Isaac -- a lot.  
"Didn't think you'd find me." Jedediah stood. He was a few inches taller than Micah and a year older, but he didn't possess the same respect that Isaac did. Jed was just a friend.  
"Well, I did," Micah said firmly, and promptly gave him a shove. "And now you're It!" Jedediah stumbled.  
"Hey, not fair!" he cried, but the black-haired little boy had already darted out of the cornfield and towards his house.  
"There's no rule against it!" Micah smothered a giggle with his hand, ready to dodge behind the hedge in back of the house. "All's fair in--" He didn't get to finish, because there was suddenly a shock of black against the blue autumn sky. With a bump and a grunt, Micah was on his rump yet again, staring up at the forbidding figure above him. Then he grinned. "Isaac!" Isaac smiled calmly down at him.  
"Good morning, young Micah," he said pleasantly. He extended a hand, and Micah took it, pulling himself up.  
"Good morning, brother Isaac," Micah chirped. Isaac wasn't too much taller than him, and now that he was standing, it was a lot easier to see his face.  
"Playing with your friend, I see?" Isaac gestured beyond Micah's shoulder, and he turned. Jedediah was standing at the edge of the cornfield, a troubled expression on his face. Micah nodded eagerly.  
"Yes, and we're having lots of fun. Would you like to play?" Isaac smiled with adult patience and shook his head.  
"There are things to which I must attend," he said kindly. Micah's face drooped a little.  
"Oh." But he understood that Isaac was very busy, and that most of the matters were beyond his comprehension. He nodded in what hoped was a mature way. "I understand." Isaac's smile widened.  
"Good. I am proud." Micah's heart nearly swelled; he gave the teenager a large grin.  
"Thank you, brother Isaac!" he said, trying not to sound too eager. Isaac patted Micah's head of dark hair, then winced and returned his hand to his right shoulder. Micah frowned. "What's wrong?" Isaac rubbed at his shoulder gingerly.  
"Oh, nothing." Then he smiled -- a large, unusual smile. "Your sister has an odd way of showing affection, does she not?" Micah frowned slightly.  
"What do you mean?" Why were they suddenly talking about Rebekah?  
"Nevermind," Isaac said complacently, and gave his head another pat. "I need to speak with Malachai, so if you'll excuse me--" He shot his odd smile at Jedediah, who winced and backed away into the cornfield. Micah nodded and trotted towards his retreating friend.  
"See you later, Isaac," he called over his shoulder. Isaac didn't move for a moment; he paused, then said,  
"Are you coming to tonight's meeting?" Micah's steps faltered. He whirled and nodded emphatically.  
"Yes, of course!" Isaac smiled, a little too widely.  
"Good. Very good." Then, with slow careful steps, he turned and walked away. Micah watched.  
"Micah," Jedediah said tensely. "Come play." The dark-haired little boy paused, then glanced back at his friend.  
"I'm coming," he chirped, and trotted into the cornfield. He glanced over his shoulder one more time, however -- and there was his sister's face in the window: pale, tight, and concerned. But it was time to play, not time to worry. So Micah chased his friend through the cornfields, his discussion with Isaac already fading behind him.  
  
Rebekah turned away from the window. What was Isaac up to now? He'd destroyed most of their family already -- wasn't that enough?  
"Bastard," she muttered under her breath, and headed for the bathroom. There had been a time when Isaac was her friend, but he was not known as Isaac then. Back then, he was William, and back then, he hadn't been disturbing or psychotic. No, he was just quiet -- but hadn't they always said never trust the quiet ones?  
(Too late now, isn't it?)  
Rebekah seized a hairbrush and pulled it through her long blonde hair thoughtfully. William was quiet and solemn, but not unlike herself. He could be funny at times, but it seemed that he was always too busy brooding over... well, over _something. _If she could've read his twisted little mind, she would've. But unfortunately, mind reading was not in her resumè.  
(Would sure be useful though.)  
Rebekah paused, watching her reflection carefully. She looked a little paler than normal, she noticed sadly, and shadows had begun to gather under her eyes. Other than that, same old Ellen. Quickly, she twisted her long blonde hair into a bun to keep it out of her eyes. Rebekah looked nothing like her little brother; he was dark-haired and dark-eyed, but she had dusty blonde hair and gray-blue eyes. They were both pale, but at least she had a little color in her cheeks. Rebekah set down the hairbrush and headed for the front door. There was someone she needed to speak with. Whether they were willing to speak with her was another thing, but it was necessary. Her little brother would be the topic of conversation, and Isaac as well. And there were some definite questions that needed to be answered.  
  
She found Malachai brooding in the barn.  
"Craig," Rebekah said as she walked through the door. The red-headed teenager was comfortably sprawled in the hay, staring at the wooden rafters with disinterest.  
"Try again, Rebekah," he said boredly, and began fiddling with a piece of straw. She stopped, frustrated, then smiled thinly.  
"_Malachai," _she corrected. He looked up at her and grinned.  
"Much better. You looking for Isaac?" Rebekah leaned against a wall of the barn, regarding him with something less than distaste. He was _not _an attractive boy, and that smile on his face wasn't helping.  
"No, Malachai," she snapped. "I've already found him. Now I've hidden him, and it's _your _turn to find him." Malachai chuckled quietly, rolling the piece of hay between his thumb and forefinger.  
"You're very sarcastic. Do you know that, Rebekah?" She tried not to sneer and was unsuccessful.  
"Yeah, well. I've always heard cynicism was good for the heart." Rebekah fanned her face with a hand. The barn was hot and stuffy, making her grateful that her hair was off her shoulders, but Malachai was dressed in a pair of heavy jeans and a flannel shirt. It was amazing; he wasn't even sweating. God knows how long he'd been in here. "Actually, I need to talk with you, Craig," she said slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. He shook his head and clucked his tongue reproachfully.  
"You slipped again, Rebekah." She sighed in frustration.  
"Yes, I did. Now can I please ask you--" Malachai waved a lightly freckled hand gracefully at the hay beside him.  
"Sit," he said pleasantly, and she sat. The redhead paused, then placed the straw idly in his mouth. "What do you want to talk about?" Rebekah wrinkled her nose. He looked like a cow, chewing on the hay like that.  
"Isaac. Isaac and Micah." Malachai glanced up at the rafters again.  
"Mm hm. What about them? Aside from the fact that they both look like they should be hanging upside down in some cave and fearing garlic." She narrowed her eyes. It was a shot against Isaac, but it was also a shot against Micah.  
"Watch yourself, Malachai," she said quietly. He held up his hands in defense, chewing idly on the piece of hay.  
"Forgive me. I forgot how protective you are about the boy." Rebekah squinted at him in an effort to hide her anger.  
"Get rid of that straw. You look like you should be an extra on Hee-Haw." Malachai grinned and gave the hay another chomp.  
"What about Isaac and Micah?" he repeated. She glanced down at the barn floor and kicked at it boredly with her bare toe.  
"You've seen how much he looks up to him," Rebekah began slowly. "And Isaac -- he's not exactly someone I want Micah to be modeling himself after."  
"Mm." Malachai smiled thinly at the rafters. "Not that Gatlin is overflowing with good examples." She almost laughed, but managed to contain it.  
"And I'm afraid that Micah's learning... bad... _things _from him." Rebekah sighed softly and began sifting through the hay idly. "Plus, Isaac's been--" Her voice faltered. It suddenly occurred to Rebekah that Malachai's eyes were now on her. She had never thought that she'd be confessing something like this to Malachai, but ever since Abraham had--  
"Go on," Malachai urged, breaking her thoughts. She went on.  
"Isaac's been very... _affectionate _lately." Rebekah winced immediately at her poor choice of words, but he got the idea.  
"And by affectionate," he said slowly, a smirk appearing on his face, "you mean he's horny as a toad." The comment caught her by surprise, and this time she did laugh.  
"Yeah," she chuckled. "Yeah, that's pretty much it." Malachai's smirk widened; he gave the straw another chomp and spat it out.  
"So what's the problem?" Rebekah frowned.  
"Well, in case you can't tell, I don't feel the same--" He cut her off with a disdainful wrinkle of his nose.  
"Cut the crap, Rebekah," Malachai said in a bored tone. "You mean that you'd rather cut off your own arm than show emotion towards Isaac." She laughed again, but this was low and under her breath. It was amazing how much this boy knew.  
"Right again." But then Rebekah paused, looking strained. "You know Isaac, Malachai. If I don't feel the way he wants me to feel, he'll figure out some way to..." She trailed off and waved her hands helplessly. The 15 year old smirked knowingly.  
"And you're afraid he'll use Micah," he finished. Rebekah shook her head slowly, staring at him in disbelief.  
"You should be on the Psychic Hotline, you know that?" Malachai chuckled quietly.  
"Blessed, aren't I?" Then he glanced at her, and his freckled face was serious. "Except I don't know what to tell you to do." Rebekah sighed in irritation, putting a hand to her forehead.  
"Great. That just helps me out a hell of a lot, Malachai." She started to get to her feet, but he grabbed her arm firmly.  
"I _do _have a bit of advice, however," Malachai said solemnly. "Watch Isaac. Keep a wary eye on him. Because if I know Isaac -- and I do -- he _will _do anything to change your feelings." Rebekah started to speak, but he held up a hand and continued. "I know, you're going to say that your feelings can't be changed, but Isaac believes that he can make anything happen." Malachai smiled thinly. "He did, after all, make the unthinkable happen." She shuddered inwardly and nodded.  
"Okay. Thanks, Craig." He released her arm, not correcting her this time.  
"Any time, Rebekah." Malachai paused, watching her leave, and added, "You be careful. This is Isaac's Gatlin now."  



	4. Speaking with the Father

--Yeah, I still don't own anyone except Rebekah and Abraham. So _there.--_  
  
Malachai watched Rebekah leave out of the corner of his eye. Well, there was no question _why _Isaac had a thing for her. She was one of the best looking girls in Gatlin. If only she didn't have such a mouth on her.  
"Malachai," came the voice from the shadows. He jumped a little bit, then scowled.  
"Isaac." Malachai regained composure and leaned back into the hay. "How long have you been lurking around in the darkness like that?" Isaac emerged to sit by him in the straw.  
"I just got here." He cocked a dark, wary eyebrow at Malachai. "I see you've been talking to Rebekah." Malachai's lips split into a big, obnoxious grin.  
"Mm _hm_. Yes I have." Isaac hadn't sat entirely; he had only crouched down low to the ground and was now rocking thoughtfully from the balls of his feet to his heels. _Weird kid, _Malachai thought darkly.  
"What did she say?" Isaac had tried to sound casual and failed completely. Malachai chuckled, snatching another piece of straw to fiddle with.  
"Would you like me to pass her a note during study hall, chief?" he said drily, and smirked. Isaac's pale cheeks flushed a light pink.  
"Watch yourself, Malachai," he growled. Malachai blinked.  
"That's the second time today I've been told that." He placed the straw in his mouth and spread his hands obligingly. "Go on. What did you want to say?" Isaac's face cleared; he rocked slowly from the balls of his feet to his heels.  
"I need to have a discussion with you, Malachai. About many things." Malachai sighed in irritation.  
"Since when did I become the psychiatrist of Gatlin? Take a number, the doctor will be with you in a moment."  
"I've had just about enough of your sarcasm," Isaac snapped. Malachai paused, then smiled a little.  
"If sarcasm is something you can't handle," he said carefully, "then you best give up on the Balding girl." Isaac tensed and shook his head.  
"No," he said quickly, "no, I can handle it." Malachai chuckled under his breath.  
"Careful, Isaac. You might start to sound desperate." Isaac blushed again, but he scowled beneath it.  
"Malachai." His tone was warning, and Malachai shut his mouth -- for the moment. After all, the little jerk couldn't boss him around forever. He was nearly two years older than Isaac, for Christ's--  
"Sorry. Go ahead." Isaac took a deep breath and began.  
"I-- I really like this girl--" Malachai smirked, unable to hide it. Mr. Cool-And-Collected, Mr. Self-Control was stumbling over his words.  
"Go on. Her name is Rebekah Balding. It's not that hard to say." Isaac frowned at him, pausing.  
"How did you know?" Malachai tapped his temple in a mysterious way.  
"A little birdie told me." He waved a hand impatiently. "Now go on." Isaac looked a little wary, but he continued.  
"Well, I have a feeling that she doesn't like me." He paused and rubbed at his shoulder, an odd smile on his face. "The fact that she almost broke my arm this morning only adds to my suspicion." Malachai nearly laughed out loud.  
"Yeah. That's a pretty good hint." He gave the straw a thoughtful chew. "Go on." Isaac hesitated, rocking back and forth slowly.  
"See, I'm sure she just doesn't _know _that she has feelings for me--" Malachai covered a snort with his hand. He couldn't help it -- 'Oh, no, Isaac, I figured out that I _do _like you, I've just been missing it for the last few years.' -- the thought was just too funny. Isaac didn't find it as amusing. "Don't _laugh _at me, Malachai!" he cried, and for a moment he sounded like a normal, hormonal teenager. It made Malachai blink in surprise.  
"Okay. Okay, I'm sorry. Go on." Isaac's distressed frown slowly smoothed; _there _was Gatlin's good ol' psychopath. He continued.  
"I'm trying to figure out a way to -- to make her see." Malachai stared up at the rafters, still chewing on his piece of straw. A small smirk was playing on his face.  
"I think you lost all chances of 'making her see'," he said quietly. Isaac straightened.  
"What do you mean?"  
"Do you remember last summer," Malachai murmured, "when the new rule came about? The one about the Age of Sacrifice being established?" Isaac nodded slowly.  
"Ye-e-e-es," he said, the word drawn out.  
"Then I'm sure you remember the first to be sacrificed." Malachai smiled thinly at Isaac, who had begun to frown again. "Oh, sure you do. You made specific orders to have him killed first." Isaac's frown became a dark scowl.  
"This is _not _our topic of conversation, Malachai--"  
"It was that Abraham boy," Malachai went on relentlessly. "What was his name...? Abraham... Timely?" Isaac's rocking faltered.  
"I warn you, Malachai," he said quietly, but Malachai didn't listen.  
"Oh, yes. _I _certainly remember. You had him sacrificed first, that poor Abraham Timely, and_ we all knew--_"  
"Shut _up!" _Isaac jerked violently backwards, face drawn and paler than usual. Malachai was on a roll, however, and didn't obey.  
"We all knew, Isaac," he said darkly, turning on the younger boy, "that he wasn't 19. He wouldn't be 19 for 3 or so years, but you had him sacrificed anyway. But the question is--" Malachai paused, tapping his chin in mock thought. "--_why _would you have him sacrificed before the Age of Adulthood?" Isaac fell off his heels and landed hard on his backside.  
"Because he was a blasphemous, insubordinate sinner," Isaac whispered, but Malachai shook his head with a small smile.  
"Oh, no. I don't think that was it. _I _think that the reason Abraham was sacrificed first was because he was the only boy that Rebekah would pay any attention to. And you _hated _it, didn't you, Isaac?" Isaac jerked to his feet violently and pointed a finger at Malachai.  
"You," he gasped, chest heaving with irregular breaths, "will be punished. _Severely." _Malachai didn't falter; he smiled pleasantly up at Isaac.  
"Fine. But then, in my distressed state, I just might let something slip to Rebekah -- something like the truth about Abraham's death." Isaac's dark eyes widened. So did Malachai's grin. "Would you like that, Isaac?"  
"That's -- that's blackmail," Isaac gasped. It was giving Malachai great pleasure to see him so panicked.  
"And that's murder, dear Mr. Chroner," Malachai responded pleasantly. Isaac stared at him, dark eyes angry and -- thankfully -- frightened. He lowered the accusing finger slowly.  
"This discussion never happened." Isaac turned and, without another word, stalked out of the barn. Malachai smirked after him. _That _would teach the little psycho to come to him for advice.  
  
Rebekah approached her house, walking slowly, arms crossed thoughtfully over her chest. Malachai had been right about one thing -- Isaac did seem to think that he could make anything happen. _Well, now he's met his match, _she thought bitterly, and stepped up to the door. Almost mechanically, she felt for the key beneath the mat. It took her a moment to remember that she didn't need it, that the locks didn't work, and Rebekah scowled darkly. She wanted things back the way they were.  
"That's not bloody likely," she muttered, and walked inside. "Micah!" Rebekah's voice echoed off the walls eerily; it was something that she had done for a long time. No reply. He was still playing outside. Just to be sure, she ambled over towards the living room window. It had a picturesque view of the cornfields. Rebekah pulled the curtain back and immediately saw the little boys; they were in some sort of playful wrestling match with the newly-found Mordechai. She smiled a little. Even though they were both bigger than Micah, he had managed to pin Jedediah and was working on the blonde-haired boy now. Their voices drifted dimly through the glass.  
"No fair!" cried Jedediah from beneath Micah, but he just giggled.  
"I love you, Nathan," Rebekah said softly, and smiled. He was still her little brother, no matter what Isaac did to him.  
  
And speaking of Isaac...  
  
She was suddenly hit with a faint whispering of intuition.  
(over there)  
Rebekah frowned, rubbing at her forehead.  
(look over there _look _I say)  
She glanced around outside.  
"Where?" she mumbled, not sure who she was talking to.  
(keep looking you'll see)  
Sure enough, she did see. Rebekah's eyes fell on the dark shape slipping through the corn.  
_(told you)  
_"What's he up to?" she muttered, still clueless as to who she was addressing. The young woman crept to the window in the kitchen, where she could see him better. Isaac was walking slowly through the rows of corn, pale face turned up to the blue autumn sky. It took one long moment and a considerable amount of squinting for Rebekah to realize that he was crying. "Oh, _crap," _she said under her breath, feeling a pang of guilt. _Great job, you made him cry, _her mind hissed. _You're such a great example in this chaotic town._ Isaac paused, closed his eyes, and let the sun shine on his tear-streaked face. Then he kept walking. Rebekah groaned quietly and slipped to the back door. Guilt was not something she handled well. _Besides, _she thought, _if it were Micah or Jedediah or Mordechai out there crying in the corn, I'd be out there in two seconds. He's still just a kid, just like the rest of us._  
  
Rebekah walked tentatively into the cornfield.  
"Isaac?" she said quietly, half of her desperately hoping he wouldn't hear and that she could go back to the house. He apparently didn't hear; the corn kept rustling, and soft sniffling sounds were following it. "Oh, _crap," _she said again, and hurried after the noises.  
"Forgive me," Isaac whispered. Rebekah froze, thinking he was talking to her, then relaxed as he went on. "Father, I do not know what to do. Please help me." She crept a little closer, able to glimpse his jacket through the rows of corn. About five feet away, she stopped -- curiousity overcoming her -- and watched as the tears continued to roll down Isaac's pale cheeks. "My one true Father," he said softly, apparently unheeding to the fact that he was still crying. "My light, my salvation, please bless me with the knowledge of what I should do. My feelings, they blind me, and the true path is lost in the confusion--" Rebekah frowned and leaned closer, trying to hear more, but all she succeeded in was snapping a corn stalk in half. Isaac whirled. "Rebekah--" He looked shocked at first, then frightened, and finally his face twisted into an angry sneer. "How much did you hear?" She straightened.  
"Not enough, I don't think," she replied steadily. Isaac raised one dark eyebrow at her, which looked funny, considering that the tears were still rolling down his face. He didn't notice, obviously.  
"Are you aware that the interruption of one's prayer is extremely rude?" Rebekah smirked, unable to fight it.  
"Are you aware," she countered softly, "that you're crying?" Isaac's eyes widened; he wiped the tears away quickly with his sleeve.  
"Go away," he muttered childishly. Rebekah paused, feeling one fleeting hunch that she should ask him what was wrong.  
"Are you okay?" The question was out before she could stop it. _Damn my humanity, _she thought drily. Isaac frowned a little, looking suspicious.  
"Do you care?" he asked in a small voice. Rebekah flinched.  
"Well... yeah," she admitted, and something in Isaac's eyes softened. "I mean, no one should have to be all alone when they cry." She spoke from experience -- Rebekah had cried every night for three weeks after her parents were killed.  
"Do you really want to know what's wrong, Rebekah?" Isaac's voice startled her; it was soft and careful and surprisingly vulnerable.  
"Yeah," she said slowly, and offered a tentative smile. She couldn't be as cold as she usually was with Isaac, not when he sounded like a human being. He paused, swallowed, and opened his mouth to say something. That was when someone shrieked.  
_"OW!" _Rebekah whirled.  
"Micah," she murmured, and darted out of the cornfield. Isaac watched her leave mournfully.  
  
He had been _that _close.


	5. Genesis

--Ah, crap. I tried. ...Isaac ended up with feelings, didn't he? Heh. Okay, still don't own anyone but Rebekah. Everyone else is property of Stephen King. The many reviews are appreciated.--  
  
Micah's startled cry had broken the brief moment in the cornfield. Rebekah pushed past the golden stalks, trying desperately to see what was wrong with her little brother.  
"Micah!" she called worriedly, and the corn finally ended. There sat her little brother on the ground, the elbow of his beloved black shirt ripped to expose a good sized scrape. "What happened?" she murmured, dropping to a knee beside the little boy. Jedediah spoke up from somewhere near the hedges.  
"We were playing tag," he said quietly. Mordechai nodded to affirm the statement. Micah was crying softly, rubbing at his eyes with a fist.  
"It hurts," he sniffled. Rebekah ran her hand soothingly over his hair and peered at his elbow.  
"It's not too bad, sweetheart. Come on." She took his free hand gently, pulling him to his feet.  
"Control yourself, young Micah," said a dry voice from behind. Rebekah looked over her shoulder to see Isaac, looking cold and serious with his arms crossed. "The Lord looks down upon such weakness." Micah's dark eyes grew wide; he tried to stop crying, but couldn't hold back the tears.  
"Brother I-I-Isaac," he stammered. What was left of Rebekah's tolerance of Isaac withered immediately. Just two seconds ago, he was out there crying in the cornfield, and now he was criticizing her nine year old brother? _And to think, _she thought bitterly, _I felt sorry for him._ Arms protectively around Micah, she turned to glare at Isaac.  
"_Brother _Isaac_," _she said in a soft, deadly tone, "how soon we forget our own weaknesses." Isaac's pale face tightened; something in his dark eyes flashed dangerously.  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Rebekah." Jedediah and Mordechai watched in wide-eyed silence. Micah was still crying.  
"I'm sure you don't." Rebekah pressed a light kiss to the top of Micah's head and pushed him towards the door. "Come on, honey. We'll get you cleaned right up." Tossing a contemptuous glance over her shoulder at Isaac, she added, "Jedediah, Mordechai, you come inside too." They obeyed quickly. Rebekah glared a little longer at the pale, unmoving figure right outside the corn. Then she slammed the door.  
  
Isaac's hands clenched tightly. _You were so close, _his mind hissed hatefully. _So very close at making her see!_  
"It was the boy," he murmured, turning away from the house. "_His _fault, not mine." Isaac began walking slowly down the road into the center of Gatlin. _But he did help in one way, _he admitted resentfully. _At least the boy stopped me from making a total fool of himself. _He rarely cried, but after his disastrous talk with Malachai, it couldn't be avoided. And some idea that had been, wandering into the cornfield behind Rebekah's house. Isaac didn't think well when upset. At any rate, it had been terribly weak of him to shed even one tear. He was their leader, and when the leader shows such a weakness, all respect is lost. He would _not _lose their respect. Isaac paused by the schoolhouse. But he _would _continue to work on Rebekah. She _would _see things his way. After a moment of contemplation, he smiled to himself and headed into Gatlin's vandalized school. This would be a good place to think. And he did have a lot to think about. Because he would do anything to make Rebekah see -- and Isaac thought he had discovered a crack in her icy surface.  
  
"Here. Almost done." Rebekah dabbed at the scrape with a washrag. Micah winced and glanced at the floor, trying to hide the weakness Isaac had accused him of.  
"Is he gonna be okay?" asked Jedediah meekly. Rebekah laughed quietly and turned to dig in the bathroom cabinet.  
"It's hardly fatal," she chuckled, discovering a long-lost unused band-aid. "He'll be fine, won't you, Nathan?" Micah sniffled into his sleeve and scowled at the floor.  
"That's not my name." Rebekah paused.  
"It was once." She frowned a little, then peeled the plastic off of the band-aid and positioned it on the little boy's elbow. "Jedediah, Mordechai," she said over her shoulder, "do you remember what you used to be called? Before Isaac renamed you?" There was an awkward silence; Micah's dark eyes stared up at her expressionlessly.  
"No," Mordechai said slowly, but Jedediah hesitated.  
"Yes." He said it almost as if he were afraid of the reaction. It was a reasonable fear, too -- Mordechai scowled and punched Jedediah on the arm.  
"Hey!" Rebekah whirled and snatched Mordechai's wrist. His eyes immediately widened. He was only 11, after all, and this was the girl who had just made _Isaac _look nervous. She saw the fear in his eyes, however, and loosened her grip. "No hitting," she said quietly, releasing his arm. Rebekah turned back to Micah and pressed a light kiss against the band-aid. "All better."  
"Isaac _said," _Mordechai muttered sullenly from behind. "He _said _that our new names were like rebirth, and that we must never go back to the old life of sin." She turned again to look at the two boys. Jedediah was frowning too, but it was a thoughtful one.  
"I'm not asking you to go back to the 'old life of sin'." Rebekah crossed her arms over her chest. "I just want to know if you remember your names or not." Mordechai's scowl deepened.  
"Isaac _said," _he repeated. She glanced at Jedediah, who caved beneath her serious gaze.  
"I used to be Brian," he said softly, and pointed to Mordechai. "He was Brad."  
"Shut up!" Mordechai's glare darkened. Rebekah calmly lifted a hand over his head. The boy flinched, but she simply put her palm on his hair.  
"Quiet, Bradley."  
_  
"STOP IT!"_  
  
Rebekah, Mordechai, and Jedediah whirled in surprise. Little Micah had jumped down from the counter, hands clenched and face a whiter shade of pale than normal.  
"All three of you," he gasped, breathing irregular, "defy the word of Isaac. You defy his word and his ways." Rebekah raised her eyebrows.  
"Nathan--" she began, but he pointed a finger at her.  
"_Micah," _he snarled, and pushed past Rebekah into the living room.  
  
That night, Isaac gathered all of Gatlin's children in the clearing of the cornfield. It went as usual: a blessing over the corn, a few readings from the Bible, even several town announcements. _Yeah, it's a regular PTA meeting, _Rebekah thought drily. She idly placed her hand on the back of Micah's neck, but he jerked away from her touch and scowled.  
"Don't," he whispered, and returned his attention back to Isaac. Rebekah stared at him in disbelief. Something was most definitely not right.  
"Go now," Isaac said importantly, interrupting her thoughts, "with the word of our Lord on your lips and in your heart."  
"Thanks be to the Savior," recited the crowd mechanically. They began to filter out of the field. _To return to their parentless houses, _Rebekah thought bitterly. She took her brother by the hand, desperately hoping he wouldn't jerk away again.  
"Come on, Micah. Let's go home. It's nearly your bedtime." The little boy didn't object. They started walking, but a hand fell on her shoulder and Rebekah drew away automatically.  
"Rebekah--" Isaac began. She whirled, still holding Micah's hand protectively.  
"No," she said firmly, and turned back around. "Come _on, _Micah. We're going home." They only got a few steps away before Isaac spoke again, his voice small and careful.  
"Rebekah," he repeated. "Please. I need to speak with you." Rebekah's steps faltered. _Damn, _her mind whispered. _Why does he have to do this?_  
"What do you want, Isaac?" she asked softly, not turning. He paused, then spoke again, sounding hopeful.  
"Please, I just want a few moments to speak with you. It won't take long, and you can send Micah ahead." Micah looked up at her with dark eyes. Rebekah was startled at what she saw in them -- he looked _angry. _Envious, even.  
"I'd... I'd better walk him home." She didn't glance over her shoulder. She was afraid of what she'd see.  
"I'm not a baby," Micah muttered, pulling his hand away. Rebekah opened her mouth to object, but Isaac interjected.  
"He's right. The house isn't that far away. Let him do it on his own." She turned, ready to counter-attack, and immediately scolded herself for doing so. Isaac was chewing his lower lip unsurely, glancing from her to Micah in a desperate manner. _Damn him, _her mind hissed again. _He's so much easier to hate when he's not on the brink of tears._  
"Go on, Micah," Rebekah said defeatedly. "I'll be in later to tuck you in." Micah didn't say anything; he had already begun to leave the cornfield. The rest of the children were gone -- except for Malachai, who stood, smirking, behind them. _Great, we're going to have an audience, _she noted bitterly.  
"Follow him, Malachai," ordered Isaac abruptly. "Make sure he gets home all right." Malachai's red brows knitted.  
"But--"  
"I said _follow him," _Isaac commanded, and the tone of his voice made it clear that there was no negotiating the subject. Glaring, Malachai stalked out of the cornfield.  
  
They were alone.  
  
Isaac turned slowly back to her.  
"Rebekah," he said for the third time, something of a plea in his voice. Rebekah groaned mentally. _Dear God, he's going to lay it on thick, isn't he?_  
"What, Isaac?" she asked, hoping to sound bored. He chewed his lower lip again, and suddenly she noticed how pale he was. Moreso than normal.  
"I'm sorry," Isaac whispered. Rebekah blinked.  
"For...?" _There's plenty for you to be sorry for, _her mind hissed. _Pick a random evil deed._  
"Everything." _That _startled her; not only the word, but the tone of his voice. He sounded very... sincere. "For what happened with the adults, for what happened in the kitchen, for what happened with Micah. For..." Isaac waved his hands around helplessly. "...everything." Rebekah stared at him, fairly shocked. This did _not _make sense -- especially the fact that he sounded like he meant it.  
"That's..." She drifted off, then caught hold of her words. "That's not going to bring my parents back, Isaac," she said quietly. " 'Sorry' is not going to bring everyone's parents back." Isaac winced.  
"Yeah," he said softly. "I know." _STOP THAT! _snapped her mind. _STOP SOUNDING SORRY!_  
"I suppose that's better than nothing." Rebekah hated the fact, but she was starting to believe him. Isaac turned away from her suddenly.  
"Don't," he murmured. She frowned and moved closer.  
"Don't what?" He shook his head rapidly, dark hair moving slightly in the wind.  
"Don't feel sorry for me. There's no reason to." Rebekah hesitated, then placed her hand lightly on his shoulder.  
"I don't feel sorry for you," she assured him. "But I do believe that you're truly sorry about what you did. Even though you can't change it, you can help it." There was a long pause. Isaac took a breath, then placed his hand gently over the one on his shoulder. Rebekah felt a short brush with intuition  
(this is bad)  
but didn't pull away.  
"Do you know," Isaac said softly, "why you were given the name Rebekah?" It was an odd, irrelevent question, but she shook her head all the same.  
"No." He paused, then took another deep breath.  
"In the Old Testament, in the book of Genesis, Isaac, son of Abraham, was promised by God a wife. A servant of the family found the sworn girl at a well. Her name was Rebekah." She swallowed a little; Isaac went on. " 'The girl was very beautiful, a virgin, untouched by man.' Genesis, 24:16." He hesitated, then added, "When he realized that this was the one, the wife of Isaac, the servant placed two gold bracelets on her wrists. 'Blessed be the Lord, the God of my master Abraham, who has not let his constant kindness toward my master fail.' " Rebekah frowned, not sure where the conversation was heading -- and not sure if she liked the hunch that she _did _know where it was going.  
"I don't understand," she murmured. Isaac paused, then turned to her again. His face was pale and solemn.  
"I do not have gold bracelets," he whispered, "so this is the best I can do." And then, quite abruptly, Isaac pressed his lips to hers. _Ah, the little PERVERT! _her mind hissed, but Rebekah wasn't sure she agreed.  
  
She didn't pull away.


	6. Tears For the Earth

--HAH! I finally got to rent the first COTC. It helped. ...COTC, Isaac, Malachai, Micah... none of them are mine. I own Rebekah alone. Glad to see I have some diligent readers.--  
  
Isaac broke the kiss gently, placing a careful hand behind her neck.  
"You do not draw back," he said softly, not meeting her eyes. "Why?" _Good question, _sneered her mind. Rebekah swallowed the hard lump that had settled in her throat.  
"Because." That had been her original answer, but she decided to elaborate, considering how childish it sounded. "Because you've never acted like this before, Isaac. It's-- refreshing." Rebekah offered a very weak smile. The kiss hadn't been as she'd expected it would, but... there was _something _wrong. The unidentified _Something _had built up and settled sickly at the bottom of her stomach. Isaac finally lifted his gaze from the ground; his dark eyes were unusually bright. It made her feel a little better -- but not much.  
" 'The servant recounted to Isaac all the things he had done. Then Isaac took Rebekah into his tent; he married her, and thus she became his wife.' " He paused to give her another gentle kiss. It felt somehow different this time. The Something shifted in her stomach. " 'In his love for her,' " he said softly, staring seriously at Rebekah with his dark eyes, " 'Isaac found solace after the death of his mother, Sarah.' Genesis, 25:67." The hand behind her head began to tentatively tangle in the dusty-blonde strands of hair. Rebekah watched Isaac in what she hoped was a blank expression.  
"So that's why you renamed me Rebekah?" she asked quietly. "Because that was the name of Isaac's wife?" His pale cheeks flushed a light pink; Isaac nodded.  
"Yes." He glanced away again. She laughed softly, then swallowed as his fingertips moved lightly over the back of her neck. In her stomach, the Something lurched.  
"I'm flattered," Rebekah murmured, shifting a little. Isaac's fingers paused.  
"Does this mean," he asked, voice hushed, "that you don't hate me?" She tried a smile, but it didn't feel right.  
"Not if you keep this up." As soon as she finished the sentence, the Something shifted heavily. _Stop that, _her mind snapped. Isaac's fingers began inching over the back of her neck again.  
"Keep what up?" Rebekah licked her lips nervously.  
"Not being an asshole," she said meekly. Isaac stiffened, then smiled.  
"I'll try." His fingertips slowly found their way under the collar of her shirt in short little strokes. Now the Something shuddered hard; Rebekah pulled away a little.  
"Micah," she said softly. "He's at home. I need to go tuck him in." Isaac's eyebrows twitched darkly, but he smoothed them with a little smile.  
"Forget the boy," he murmured, fingers moving delicately over the skin under her shirt. Rebekah's throat tightened.  
"I have to go." The Something was lurching sickly in her stomach. Isaac paid no attention.  
_"Forget the boy," _he repeated. She jerked away slightly, wary of his wandering fingers. Isaac returned them to the back of her neck wordlessly.  
"Really. I need to go." Rebekah offered a small smile, nevertheless beginning to wiggle out of his grasp. He noticed.  
"Don't," Isaac whispered, leaning in to give her another kiss. "Please don't."  
"Goodbye, Isaac." Rebekah turned her head to avoid his lips. The Something was churning rapidly, making her feel completely nauseous. She thought she might be sick -- and had no idea why. The whole experience had suddenly turned... _bad. _And she wanted to go home.  
"Don't--" It was one last desperate plea. Rebekah's heart went out to him, but she no longer wanted to be here. She pulled out of his arms completely.  
"I'm sorry--" she began, but the words were cut off with a cry of pain.  
  
She couldn't get free.  
  
The gentle fingers in her hair had turned brutal; they tangled in the long dusty-blonde strands and tightened, pulling her back. Rebekah let out another cry, this one more shock than anything else.  
"Isaac!" she gasped, and his hand clamped over her mouth.  
"You can't leave," he whispered in her ear. His grip on her hair tightened. Rebekah whimpered in protest, but Isaac pulled even tighter. "I've been trying to _show _you," he murmured, voice the opposite of his hands. "Trying and trying, but you just don't _see."_  
"Let go," she said softly, voice muffled by his palm. Isaac was quiet for a moment.  
"You'll run." Now his voice was cold, cold and accusing. "You'll run away, won't you?" Rebekah didn't respond. He gave her hair another yank, but this time she didn't cry out. "I'm _trying, _Rebekah," Isaac said quietly, pleadingly. "I'm just _trying _to make you see how I feel, but _every time--" _His grip on her hair loosened. Rebekah felt it and seized the moment; she jammed her elbow hard into his stomach. Isaac released her with a loud grunt and doubled over. This was her chance -- Rebekah bolted.  
_  
"NO!"_  
  
She had barely gotten a few feet away before Isaac grabbed another fistful of her hair. _Maybe it's time to get it cut, _she thought drily. Rebekah was yanked back hard.  
"Isaac--!" She stumbled, losing her footing, and groped madly for the hand in her hair.  
_"No!"_ he yelled again, voice high and desperate. _"No, you can't, don't--"_ Rebekah whirled to see him. His face was pallid and tight, dark eyes wide. _"Rebekah!" _She cut off any more of his screeches by slamming her knee into his stomach. The earlier blow would have made it more tender, she knew, and was hoping the fact held true. It did. Isaac let out a cry of pain and clutched a hand to his abdomen. Rebekah took another dash for the corn.  
(gotta get out gotta get out gottagetoutgetoutgetout)  
Isaac made one last, desperate attempt -- he shot out a hand and clawed for her hair again. She felt a flash of pain across her face. Rebekah shrieked, clapping her palm to her cheek. He had broken the skin.  
"Rebekah--" Isaac gasped, still out of breath from the blow to his stomach. "Please--" She watched him with wide eyes for what seemed too long of a moment. And then she ran.  
  
All her decisions were made in the 45 seconds it took to stumble into the house.  
"Micah!" It was her age-old ritual, but when he didn't respond at first, Rebekah panicked. _"Micah!" _she screamed, voice cracking. The little boy poked his head around the corners at the top of the stairs.  
"What's wrong, Becky?" he asked, sounding genuinely worried. Big sister didn't scream for nothing. Rebekah kept her palm clapped tightly to her cheek -- he couldn't see the blood, not yet.  
"Get Jedediah," she gasped, out of breath. "Get Jedediah, and Mordechai, and Naomi-- everyone, Micah, everyone who'll come with you." Micah frowned and trotted down the stairs.  
"Why?"  
"Just do it." Rebekah hurried to the bathroom to gather supplies. "Jedediah, Mordechai, Naomi, Moses, Noah, everyone. I mean it." The little boy looked skeptical.  
"But--"  
_"Do it!" _She didn't mean to sound so harsh, but it was not time to ask questions. It was time to either act -- or panic. Micah jumped a little, brows meeting worriedly.  
"What are we doing, Becky?" he asked in a small voice. Rebekah seized a bag from the hall closet and, keeping her hand pressed firmly to her cheek, began to put things in it: band-aids, salve, penicillin, and everything else from the medicine cabinet that would fit.  
"We're leaving," she answered tightly.  
"Is Isaac coming with us?" It was the inevitable question; Rebekah pressed her lips tightly together.  
"No. We're leaving to get away from Isaac." Micah's dark eyes widened.  
"I'm not going," he whispered. She paused, then continued gathering things one-handedly. It was awkward, but she could manage.  
"Yes you are. Because--"  
"No!" The little boy's cry startled her; Rebekah turned. Micah was on the brink of tears, his hands clenched. "I know you don't like Isaac," he said through his teeth, "but I'm not going away just because of that. I _like _Isaac, and it's -- not -- _fair!" _She stared at her younger brother in half-concealed astonishment. But time was not expendable at the moment. Rebekah's lips thinned.  
"Do you know why we're leaving?" She lowered her hand to reveal the scratches. A tiny gasp popped from Micah. Rebekah caught a glance in the mirror; there were four jagged claw-marks on her cheek, clotted with dirt and blood. _Worse than I thought, _her mind said grimly. "Do you see this?" she whispered, staring at Micah's pallid face. "_This _is what your best buddy Isaac did." The little boy's lip trembled. It was clear that his beliefs were being conflicted, and he was confused.  
"Isaac... he--"  
"Yes." Rebekah covered the scratches with her hand again and continued gathering supplies. "Will you go get the children now?" There was silence from behind. At last Micah spoke.  
"I'll hurry," he whispered, and ran to the front door.  
  
Isaac, in the meantime, had not yet left the cornfield. He still had his arms clasped protectively over his stomach and was struggling to catch his lost breath.  
"Rebekah--" he gasped again, and coughed. What a nightmare. What a god-awful _nightmare. _His stomach was one big stab of pain, and Isaac knew that tomorrow it would ache horribly. But it was Rebekah that still weighed heavily on his mind. "Horrible," Isaac whispered, gingerly straightening. It didn't hurt his stomach too much. Yet again, things had blown up in his face. But _why? _Why did everything that he depended on going right always go _wrong? _He took a careful step. It wasn't that painful; Isaac smiled through the oncoming tears and started walking for the corn. No, it would be fine. He could talk to Rebekah again, work on her concsience some more, make her see. It would work next time.  
"How'd it go, chief?" Malachai's voice startled him. Isaac turned -- not too quickly, it would hurt -- and scowled.  
"Fine." His rising good mood was somehow broken. He continued walking, but the redhead just blocked his path and grinned crookedly.  
"Did you snag her?" Malachai emphasized his words by making a casting motion with an imaginary fishing pole. "Did she swallow the story? Hook, line, and sinker?" Isaac's scowl deepened. He sidestepped the older boy and kept walking.  
"I'll tell you tomorrow, Malachai." But it seemed that being dismissed earlier was all Malachai would take for one day. He dodged in front of Isaac yet again and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.  
"Oh? Still getting over the shock, eh?" Malachai chuckled, apparently not seeing the dejected look in Isaac's eyes. "Come on, not even _one _little detail?" When the dark-haired boy didn't respond, Malachai rolled his eyes. "Come _on," _he repeated, and punched Isaac playfully in the stomach. Pain shot from his abdomen to clear to his neck. Isaac let out a strangled yelp and doubled over. Tears immediately filled his eyes, hot and stinging.  
"Damn it, Malachai," he gasped, turning away to hide his face. The older boy immediately sobered.  
"I have a feeling," Malachai said slowly, "that you didn't win her over." Isaac's eyes brimmed with tears; he stayed doubled-over to hide the fact.  
"No." There was no keeping it from him now. "No, I did not win her over. I told her the story, and for a few moments I _had _her, Malachai--" Isaac looked up, despite his tearful eyes, and stared desperately at the redhead. "--and she didn't pull away, and I _kissed _her, and then..." He tried to straighten, to regain composure, but his stomach ached terribly and instead he sank to his knees. "...and then it was all over. She was thinking of the boy, she wanted to leave, and I couldn't _let _her, she _couldn't _leave--"  
"What are you saying, Isaac?" Malachai's voice was quiet and serious. Isaac shook his head slowly, staring at the husk-littered ground now.  
"When she ran, I tried to make her stay. I _tried. _And then all I felt was anger, anger and sorrow because I knew she wouldn't stay, even with all I had told her, and I--" His voice broke. A few tears slipped from his cheeks and landed on the ground, soaking into the soil. "She bled," Isaac added in a soft voice. There was a long pause. Malachai exhaled deeply.  
"She did that to your stomach?" he asked quietly, and chuckled before Isaac could respond. "Boy, you really screwed this one up, Isaac. _Royally." _Anger filled him, but Isaac couldn't snap a retort as usual. His stomach hurt too much. His face was streaked with tears. And he was just... too... _tired._  
"Leave me, Malachai," he whispered. There was another pause.  
"But--"  
_"Leave me!" _ That one Isaac _did _shout; the frustration and pain was too much. He turned a glare on Malachai. _"Leave me, or suffer the wrath of He Who Walks Behind The Rows!"_ Malachai backed off, scowling.  
"Fine. Have it your way." The gangly redhead began to disappear past the stalks of corn. "But what happened with Rebekah isn't my fault. You can't blame that on me." Isaac didn't respond. He waited until the rustling of corn was gone at last, and then he offered his tears to the earth. Because it was not going to be all right as he had suspected -- Rebekah had fled, and Rebekah had _bled, _and it was just as He Who Walks Behind The Rows had promised.  
  
And thus would start the Betrayal.


	7. Desperate Prayers

--Don't own anyone except Rebekah and Abraham. I just thought I'd mention something to everyone... in COTC, isn't it so cute when Isaac's on the cross and he squeaks? ^_^ I think so. ...off the subject, sure, but I had to mention it! Read on.--  
  
Micah returned with the children who'd agreed. There were 10 to 15 of them, including Jedediah, Mordechai, and Jedediah's younger sister, Naomi. Rebekah met them in the living room and handed out the bags of supplies she had gathered.  
"I'm sure Micah has told you what we're doing," she said, hurriedly taking a headcount. "And if he hasn't, you don't have to know anything except the fact that Isaac has gone too far this time." There was a soft murmur among the children; she went on. "I know most of you are either afraid of Isaac or in awe of him, but all of you -- now, don't lie to me -- _all _of you are afraid of Malachai." A pause, then a collective nod of assent. Yes, they had seen him in action. "We can't get to Hemmingford, not yet at least. We're going to stay in the abandoned barn at the edge of Gatlin. Whether you want to stay or not is your choice."  
"But Isaac _said--" _Rebekah shot Mordechai a wary look, and he went silent.  
"And no matter what choice you make, Micah and I are going to the barn."  
"How will you keep them out?" asked Jedediah in a small voice. She dug in the duffel bag she was holding and produced a large iron padlock.  
"This will be enough, Brian." Rebekah's gaze swept over the little crowd. "We're going. Now. Whoever wants to come can come." And without another word, she turned and slipped out the back door.  
  
All fifteen children followed.  
  
Rebekah ushered them all into the barn on Gatlin's borders. There was no one around, which was to their advantage, and she was hoping -- hell, she was _praying --_ that Isaac wouldn't see. Or worse, that Malachai would see and take matters into his own hands. He was interesting to talk to, but he was _not _one for conversation when things went awry.  
"Hurry," she hissed, pushing them all ahead of her. When she was sure that the children were safely inside, Rebekah closed the heavy doors of the barn and snapped the padlock on the inner handles. _Get through THAT, Isaac, _she thought bitterly, and turned to the frightened faces that awaited her. "I cannot promise anything," Rebekah said quietly, eager to get the truth to the front. "I can't promise that we'll be safe or happy here. Because I will not lie to you. I don't know what's going to happen. All I can do -- all _we _can do is pray for the best." She offered a weak smile. The children didn't respond. "Go on to sleep," she urged gently. "You're all tired, and it's late. Sleep, I'll watch for them." But the tension would not be relieved. After an hour or so, the children relaxed and drifted off to sleep in the hay. Micah was asleep within minutes. Rebekah kept her promise and waited at the window, watching for only one person in particular. She was almost positive that her eyelids would blink only once and there he'd be -- a short, slender figure dressed in black, coming slowly at her, appearing out of the corn like a ghost. Isaac never came. At last, when dawn touched the tips of the sky, Rebekah slept. She dreamt of Abraham. He was just as handsome as ever, brown hair swept back gracefully from his face, hazel eyes warm and comforting. Abraham extended a hand to her and whispered,  
"Come, Rebekah. It is nearly time." And yet his lips didn't move. His words echoed through her head and into her heart. Rebekah wanted to tell him how she didn't deserve to, that she had nearly surrendered to Isaac in the fields. Somehow he knew -- but Abraham didn't mind. His hand didn't falter. "Come," he whispered again, and Rebekah awoke.  
"Don't leave," she gasped. Immediately, her mouth snapped shut. Abraham was gone, dead, sacrificed to He Who Walks Behind The Rows. Willingly. Rebekah squeezed her eyes shut, fought tears, and slept again.  
  
Isaac pressed a palm gingerly to his stomach. It still hurt, but not as bad as he'd anticipated.  
"Where are they?" he murmured. Malachai stared at him solemnly.  
"Amos did a full-scale search. We think they're in the barn on Gatlin's edge." Isaac's breath caught in his throat. He tried to keep a steady voice to hide it.  
"Have you tried to enter it?"  
"It is locked. The windows are protected and too high to reach." Malachai's hand went to the long hunting knife at his side. He had discarded it since the massacre nearly two years ago; now it was in reach again. "We cannot break through. Someone has taken great care to keep us out." Isaac let out a quiet sigh of relief. She had not left town, then.  
"Good." He saw Malachai's red brows twitch skeptically and hurried on. "Gather the strong ones. Arm them. We will be inside by tonight." The older boy stared back soberly.  
"Are you so sure?" Isaac paused. He pressed his hand tighter against his stomach.  
"Yes," he whispered. "He tells me so."  
  
Rebekah was distributing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  
"I don't like peanut butter," muttered Mordechai, taking the sandwich nonetheless.  
"Maybe you'll like it better if I shove it in your face," Jedediah said irritably. Micah ate his sandwich in silence.  
"Quiet, you two," Rebekah ordered. They silenced. She handed the last sandwich to a blonde-haired little boy, who took it and hurried off to his own corner of the barn. The children had each found a comfortable spot in the hay and settled there. That was one good thing about the barn, she noted; there was a lot of hay, and it made good bedding. This would be all right until they could get help from Hemmingford.  
"Someone's coming," whispered a little girl. She was perched in the loft, staring out the window with wide eyes.  
"What?" Rebekah set down the butter knife in one of the duffel bags and hurried towards the loft. "Who?"  
"I see Amos," the little girl murmured, and pointed as she named each boy she recognized. "And Moses, and Noah, and Jonah, and--" Rebekah moved the girl gently aside.  
"Watch out, sweetheart. Okay -- Amos, Moses, Noah, Jonah--" And sure enough, Malachai followed close behind them. She let out a breath that was both frustrated and frightened. It would've taken a little longer to find their spot, she had hoped. "Stay quiet!" Rebekah hissed to the children. A hush fell over the barn; everyone looked up to see what was happening. She cracked the window just slightly.  
"Rebekah!" Malachai bellowed, shielding his eyes as he squinted up at the barn. "Rebekah, we know you're in there!" _Aw, shit, _she thought, and placed her mouth next to the crack.  
"Go away, Malachai!" He was too smart to let the locked door go unnoticed. It was not a bluff, he _did _know they were in there. Malachai's lips split into an ugly grin.  
"He wants you to come out," he called up to her. Rebekah felt her breath quicken.  
"We're not leaving this barn! Go tell him that!" The rest of the boys shifted apprehensively. They didn't hold weapons, she noticed with relief. Malachai's grin didn't waver.  
"You can tell him yourself. He'll be here tonight." He motioned to Amos and the rest. They all followed, leaving the barn -- for now. Rebekah watched them leave dejectedly. She had certainly thought the peace would've lasted for more than a day.  
"Becky?" She jumped as a hand fell on her shoulder. It was Micah; he had crawled up to the loft and settled behind her silently. Rebekah turned to him and smiled weakly.  
"What, honey?" The little boy blinked, dark eyes innocent.  
"Are they going to make us leave?" he asked softly. She stared at him for one long moment, then hugged him hard to her chest.  
"No." Rebekah kissed the side of his head and shook her own. "No. They can't make us do anything." But she knew differently, and was almost sure that Micah did. He hugged back anyway. Rebekah gave God one last chance and spent the next fifteen minutes praying for their safety.  
  
Isaac lit a candle.  
"O Lord," he whispered to the flame, bowing his head in prayer. "Let not the Betrayal conflict with your plans. It has happened just as you told me it would. I am ready and waiting to accept--" And here he stopped. Isaac's breath quickened; he opened his eyes and shook his head. "No!" He glared at the candle as if everything were somehow its fault. "No, please, I request one thing of you, Lord! Show the girl how I feel, show her how I care, because I cannot!" Isaac paused, swallowed thickly, and added, "I am too weak to make her understand. In your power and knowledge, you could. Please, I ask this one thing of you--" He felt the tears rising to his eyes again. They didn't seem too far away these past few days; every time he turned a corner, it seemed that tears were waiting for him. "--deliver Rebekah safely into my arms. Make her see." Isaac closed his eyes again, and sure enough, the tears spilled from their corners and fled down his cheeks. "Please."  
"Isaac?" He didn't open his eyes or jump. Isaac kept his eyes closed.  
"Yes?" he murmured. Amos stood at the doorway cautiously.  
"Night will fall in an hour. We are awaiting your orders." Isaac paused, contemplated, then said,  
"When darkness is full, send Malachai to me. Then we will go to the barn and end the Betrayal." There was silence, then,  
"Yes, Isaac." Steps retreated down the hall. Isaac sighed softly and opened his eyes, staring at the flame.  
"Deliver Rebekah to me in safety," he whispered helplessly. "This is all I ask of you. In the Lord's name I pray, amen." Isaac wiped away his tears and blew out the candle.  
  
"What will we do, Rebekah?" asked Jedediah softly. Rebekah was busy searching the back of the barn for any type of weapon.  
"I'll hold them off as best I can." She picked up a rusted hoe, made a soft sound of frustration, and continued looking. "I won't make you kids fight. This is my battle, not yours."  
"We can fight." Mordechai was sitting sullenly in the hay next to Jedediah. "We're not babies."  
"No," Rebekah said tightly, turning to him. "No, you're not. But you're children." He stared up at her in silence. She glanced around the barn. Everyone was watching her, waiting to see why they couldn't help. "I," Rebekah murmured slowly, "am closest to the Age of Sacrifice. If we stayed in Gatlin, I would've been sacrificed in 3 or 4 years anyway." There was a little ripple of sound through the children. She continued searching for weapons. "And no matter what happens, the rest of you are going to stay in here. No matter _what."_ No one said anything. Rebekah kicked at a pile of old hay with her foot and hit something solid; a knife handle. "Oh, perfect," she breathed, and picked it up. But relief didn't last long -- that's all it was, a knife handle. No blade. "Shit," she snapped.  
"Why can't we help?" asked Micah quietly. Rebekah turned the handle over carefully in her palm. It might work, if only as a bluff. She stuck it in her pocket, making it look as if she possessed a knife. It would be better than nothing.  
"Because I'm not sure what Isaac will do," she replied. It was the truth, too. It seemed that Isaac had three settings: nonchalant, gentle, and violent. There was no telling when he'd shift from one to the other. She was hoping wildly that he'd be set on gentle -- he was more vulnerable that way. Maybe she could play on Isaac's emotions.  
"Will he try to hurt us?" Jedediah asked quietly. Rebekah paused, then touched the knife handle lightly.  
"I don't know."  
  
The sun was setting.  
  
Isaac sat in his room, ready and waiting. Malachai entered in silence.  
"Isaac," he said solemnly. "It is dark. Are you ready to go?" Isaac stared at his hands for one long moment, then let out a small sigh.  
"Yes," he murmured, standing. "I'm ready. Where are the others?" Malachai blinked lazily. He spoke a lot less often than usual.  
"Waiting in the center of town."  
"You have armed them?" Isaac asked softly. The redhead nodded.  
"Yes." The younger boy paused, then licked his lips apprehensively.  
"And-- you remember the plan?" Malachai touched the knife at his side carefully, almost lovingly.  
"Yes," he murmured. "I remember the plan." Isaac closed his eyes, made one last desperate plea to the Lord, and sighed again.  
"Then I am ready. Let us go the barn."  
  
Mordechai was on watch at the loft window.  
"I see them," he said worriedly. Rebekah sat in the hay by Micah, hugging him close to her side. He hadn't spoken in almost an hour.  
"Do they have anything with them?" she asked. Mordechai squinted.  
"Amos has a hoe, I think. I can't see the others. Malachai--" He drew in his breath sharply. "--he has that long hunting knife of his." The children gave a collective shudder. Jedediah and Naomi crawled from their corner to nestle beside Rebekah. She put an arm around the two of them and sighed quietly.  
"And Isaac?" There was no telling what he'd have. Mordechai looked again.  
"Isaac has--" His eyes widened in fear. "Isaac has _fire."_  
"What?!" Rebekah stiffened. _He's not that crazy, _her mind pleaded. _...is he?_  
"He's got a torch," Mordechai confirmed, and swallowed thickly. "Is he going to... burn down the..."   
"I don't know." Rebekah paused, then hugged the three children tightly. "I'm going to go take a look, okay?" Jedediah and Naomi nodded; Micah stayed silent. She took him by the hand and shook it lightly. "Micah," Rebekah murmured. His dark eyes stayed downcast. Someone pounded on the door.  
"Rebekah!" It was Isaac's voice, already sounding tense. She stared desperately at Micah.  
"Please, Micah, look at me." Another thump on the barn door.  
"Unlock the door, Rebekah!" That was Malachai. "We need to talk to you!" Micah didn't move. Rebekah let him go and stood slowly. It was time.  
  
_Ready or not, _she thought drily, _here I come. A_nd she headed for the door.


	8. Choking on Words

--Crap. This was _supposed _to be short. ...oh, well. Still don't own anyone but Rebekah. But heck, I'd love to have Isaac and Micah! ^_^ So cute! Uh, read on.--  
  
Rebekah pressed her eye against the crack of the barn door. She could see them; Amos and the rest were staring expressionlessly at the barn, but Isaac was watching the window with a contained desperation.  
"Rebekah!" he called again, and she was pleased to hear a note of panic in his voice. Rebekah placed her mouth next to the crack.  
"Go away, Isaac." She sounded calm, and that gave her some confidence. Isaac's dark eyes shifted rapidly from the window to the door.  
"Rebekah," he whispered, mostly to himself, and moved closer. "Come out of there. The Lord commands it. He is displeased with this Betrayal of His ways."  
"Betrayal?" Rebekah echoed sarcastically, voice rising. "I don't think I was the one who started all this, Isaac!" The boy's face twitched worriedly.  
"I--" Malachai stepped in front of Isaac, brandishing his knife.  
"The Lord commands it," Malachai said roughly. "Come out of there. Or--" He looked to Isaac, prompting him. Isaac nodded and stepped around the redhead carefully.  
"We do not want blood to be shed, Rebekah. But if it is the only way, then it will be so." He raised the flaming torch for emphasis. "Come out." Rebekah's throat tightened.  
"Is that a threat, Isaac?" she murmured through the crack. He stared at what he could see of her.  
"Come out of the barn, Rebekah. You can leave the children inside. They can lock the door after you're out. Better to leave them alone for a few minutes than to let them die for something they don't understand." Rebekah glared at him hatefully. He'd do it, and she knew it, too.  
"Isaac," she growled. His mouth twitched nervously again, but he raised a pale hand.  
"Bring me the gasoline." She could hear the children shifting worriedly behind her. They weren't part of this. They didn't deserve to burn.  
"Isaac, don't," Rebekah said quickly, and turned to Jedediah. "Throw me the key." A ripple of sound went through the children, part relief and part astonishment.  
"Becky!" Micah had finally spoken; he got to his feet clumsily and stumbled towards her. "You can't!" Jedediah tossed the key reluctantly at Rebekah, who caught it.  
"I have to, Micah," she murmured, and swallowed. "They have fire. They could burn the whole place down. I'm not going to be selfish and cost you your lives." The little boy threw his arms around her.  
"He hurt you before," he cried, "and he could do it again!" Rebekah felt a rush of sudden, hot tears. She hugged Micah back hard, pressing a kiss into his hair.  
"I love you, Nathan." Micah let out a quiet sob.  
"I love you too, Bec-- Ellie," he whimpered. Rebekah pulled back and smiled reassuringly at the children.  
"I'll be fine," she said in what she hoped was a casual voice. Rebekah walked towards the door and put the key in the lock. "I'm coming out, Isaac," she yelled. "Give me a second."  
"Ellie," Micah sniffled.  
"Lock the door as soon as I'm out." She turned the key and the padlock made a soft click, releasing the handles. Rebekah handed both the key and the lock to Mordechai, who looked up at her with surprised eyes. "You're the next oldest," she said softly. "You're in charge until I get back."  
"Yes, Rebekah," he said quietly. She flashed another reassuring smile to the group of silent, wide-eyed children.  
"I'll be _fine," _she repeated, and put her hand on the door.  
"Be careful, Ellie," Micah whispered. Rebekah paused.  
"I will." She gave the door a push. "I promise."  
  
Isaac drew in his breath sharply as Rebekah stepped out of the barn. She looked _so beautiful -- _her hair, the color of tarnished gold, flowed behind her freely, and her pale blue eyes were glinting in the light cast by the torch. She almost seemed to float. Then the door behind her swung loudly shut, and Isaac's thoughts were broken.  
"What do you want, Isaac?" Rebekah asked in tones of ice. The coldness of her voice made him wince, but he stepped closer and lowered the torch.  
"Leave us," Isaac murmured to Amos, handing him the flaming stick. "I will call for you if I need to." The boys shifted.  
"But, Isaac--"  
"I said leave us!" He whirled and glared at them. Slowly, reluctantly, Amos and the others slunk off. Malachai followed. Isaac turned back to Rebekah and motioned with a hand. "Behind the barn," he said softly, and they walked there in silence.  
"I want you to make a point," she said stiffly when they stopped. "Make a point, Isaac, and make one quickly. Because I'm not going back to Gatlin -- none of us are -- and there's nothing you can do to change that." Isaac didn't respond at first; he stared at Rebekah for one long, agonizing moment, and finally reached towards her. She flinched, he noticed sadly, but he pressed his fingers against her cheek anyway. The scratches had begun to heal, but they were rough and sore-looking.  
"I'm sorry," he whispered, stroking the wounds with infinite care. "I'm so sorry." Rebekah's eyes hardened, but she didn't pull back.  
"I believe that's what you were saying before this happened, wasn't it?" Isaac's dark brows met and twisted in distress.  
"Please believe me." His fingers moved delicately over the scratches. It made Isaac's chest ache to see the pain he'd caused. _That _was how he'd shown his love for her. "Please believe me, I'd never want to hurt you." Rebekah's eyes flashed.  
"Then why did you?" she snapped, and pulled her face out of reach. Isaac's heart twisted painfully.  
"Don't hate me," he pleaded, feeling the tears welling up behind his eyes. He grasped for her hand, but Rebekah jerked away disgustedly. "_Please _don't hate me."  
"It's a little late for that." She tucked her hands under her arms protectively. Isaac took a shaky breath and touched her shoulder lightly.  
"Just listen." He knew he was begging, but he couldn't help it. All his gathered strength and courage had evaporated. "Please, just listen to me. I know I don't deserve for you to listen, but I'm asking you. _Please."_  
  
Rebekah swallowed the contempt that was rising in her throat.  
"Go on," she said hatefully. "Explain." Isaac put his other hand on her other shoulder; her throat tightened yet again.  
"Rebekah, I-- I panicked," he murmured. "Please, the thought of losing you, it made me _crazy--"_  
"Isaac, you never _had _me!" Rebekah shook her head hard, sending strands of tarnished gold flying around. "You can't lost what you never had!" Isaac's breath caught in his throat. After a moment, his chest hitched and he was able to breathe again.  
"But-- but you kissed me--"  
"No, Isaac," she said softly, shaking her head slowly this time. "_You _kissed _me_." The tears welled in his eyes and threatened to spill. There had been at least a trace of hope that she felt the same, but that trace was withering away.  
"Don't," he whispered, removing his hands from her shoulders to seek out her own. His fingers pulled her hands from under her arms and laced with hers. "Don't, Rebekah. Please, let me tell you how I feel--"  
"I don't want to hear it." Rebekah started to pull away. He had done this before and was obviously lying.  
"Don't," he repeated in a hushed voice, but slowly let the grip on her fingers loosen. Rebekah paused. There was something in his voice that told her that this wasn't a hoax to get her to listen. Besides, he was crying -- she had only seen Isaac cry one other time, and that was in the cornfield. He hadn't known Rebekah was there at the time, so that wasn't a hoax either. She was a fool to believe him, but the pain in his eyes made her stay.  
"I'm listening," she muttered. Isaac brightened a little. He held her hands tighter, but not harshly.  
"Rebekah." His fingers stroked her knuckles lightly. "I-- I--" Isaac paused, unable to get the words out, and pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss instead. Rebekah drew back after a moment.  
"Spit it out, Isaac." His face fell a little. It was obviously not the reaction he had been hoping for, but she was trying to stay on track. She couldn't be distracted.  
"I'm trying," he whispered, carressing her knuckles again. Isaac paused, then added softly, "I wish you'd just trust me." Rebekah scowled.  
"I have no reason to trust you."  
  
Isaac chewed his lower lip, still stroking her knuckles absently.  
"Would you trust me," he said slowly, "if I told you the truth about something?" There was an uncertainty to his voice, and Rebekah noticed. But if it was the only way he could get another kiss from her, it would be his way.  
"Told me the truth about what?" she asked cautiously. Isaac raised her hands to his lips and pressed them lightly to her knuckles.  
"About Abraham." Her fingers clenched in his own; he hurried on. "He was not 19." Rebekah nodded slowly.  
"I know," she murmured. "But he sacrificed himself willingly." Isaac averted his eyes. She noticed. "Didn't he?"  
"Abraham did not sacrifice himself willingly." He knew he was taking a chance, but maybe the fact that he _did _take that chance would make her see. Isaac was grasping at every chance he saw. "I-- I ordered to have him sacrificed before the true Age." Rebekah's eyes widened.  
"You... _what?" _He saw the look on her face and held her hands tighter. He almost immediately thought that telling her was a mistake.  
"The Lord asked for him," Isaac lied quickly. "He requested Abraham specifically. I don't know why--"  
"You-- but you--" Rebekah started to struggle. He made a soft sound of worry and kissed her hands lightly.  
"Please don't be angry," he said hurriedly. "Please, it was the Lord's wish, not mine!" She stopped moving and squinted coldly at Isaac.  
"Are you lying?" Rebekah jerked her hands a little; he panicked and tightened his grip. "Because if you're lying to me, Isaac--"  
"No. No, I'm not lying." He kissed her knuckles for the third time. "Don't be angry. Please."  
  
Rebekah was angry. But it was a confused kind of anger -- twisted and warped until she wasn't even sure it _was _anger. Abraham _had _gone willingly, however; Isaac said he hadn't suggested the fact, but she had seen him the day of the sacrifice. He was ready and willing to go. Either way, she was upset and done talking for the night.  
"I'm going inside, Isaac," she murmured. He didn't release her hands.  
"No," Isaac whispered. "Please, don't go. You don't even give me a _chance--" _  
"What chance?" Rebekah pulled one hand out of his grip. "A chance for what? Isaac, I'm tired. I'm ready to sleep. The children are all alone--"  
"And so am I." He held her other hand in his and kissed a fingertip lightly. "Please, Rebekah. I beg of you. Don't go." A quick chill slithered through her. Rebekah pulled her hand away.  
"Maybe," she said slowly, "if you start letting me go when I'm ready, I won't dread our next meeting so much." Isaac's face fell. He reached a hand towards her.  
"Wait, please--"  
"Goodnight, Isaac." Rebekah headed back to the barn. Isaac's hand fell on her shoulder -- and it wasn't quite gentle.  
"You didn't let me finish," he said quietly.  
"I'm _going," _Rebekah said in a tense voice. His fingers tightened around the fabric of her shirt.  
"No," he whispered. "You're _waiting."_ Rebekah somehow knew that Isaac's setting had gone from gentle to nonchalant -- and was heading towards violent.  



	9. Scream

--This chapter's a little short than the others. Sorry. The only character I own is Rebekah, but I don't take credit for Abraham since he's never really there. Besides. He's not as cute as Isaac or Micah anyway. Heh! Not too many chapters to go.--  
  
Rebekah paused, contemplated their positions, and promptly grabbed the hand on her shoulder. In one swift movement, it was just as it had been in the kitchen; Isaac's arm was twisted harshly behind his back, and Rebekah was in control.  
"I'm going back to the barn, Isaac," she whispered in his ear. Isaac made a soft sound of anger.  
"Blasphemy," he growled. _Yes, now he's set on violent, _she thought firmly. "Release me at once, Rebekah!"  
"If I let you go, you'd better let me walk to the barn." No response. Rebekah twisted his arm tighter. "Let me walk back to the barn and go inside. We can talk tomorrow -- _if _I decide you deserve it." Still no response. She started to twist his arm farther, but Isaac immediately made a loud whimper of protest.  
"That _hurts!"_ Rebekah winced involuntarily and let her grip loosen.  
"Sorry." There was a long pause.  
"Let me go, Rebekah," he murmured, voice soft and wounded. "I'll let you go to the barn." She hesitated, grip slackening even more.  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes." Isaac squirmed and whimpered again. "Just let me go. My arm, and my stomach -- they're both sore. It _hurts."_ Rebekah paused, then released his arm and backed away.  
"I'm going to the barn. You stand there until I'm inside." She took a few steps backwards. Isaac stayed where he was, rubbing at his arm and glaring. Rebekah kept walking backwards.  
"I'm not going anywhere," he said bitterly. She swallowed, then turned her back on him.  
"Goodnight, Isaac." It was only a few steps until Isaac spoke again.  
"Did you know," he said softly, "that in the Bible, Rebekah betrayed Isaac as well?" Rebekah stopped walking and turned slightly. He went on. "When Isaac grew old, he promised his son Esau a blessing before he died. Rebekah overheard and told her younger son, Jacob, to do as Isaac had said: bring him a venison and make him savory meat. In doing so, he would receive blessing instead of Esau." Rebekah paused, then took another step.  
"I haven't betrayed you, Isaac," she whispered. "But you need to stop hurting me." Isaac's eyes flicked to the scratches on her cheek. He winced and said no more. "Goodnight, Isaac." She turned back around and continued walking. Rebekah thought she heard a whisper -- _"No." --_ but she dismissed it and started for the barn.  
  
There was the soft crunching of earth, a grunt, and a surprising blow from behind.  
  
Isaac had tackled her in a running leap. Rebekah hit the ground with a startled cry.  
"What the _hell _are you--" She rolled over beneath him and pushed at his shoulders. "Get _off, _Isaac!" He pushed his pallid face close to hers, dark eyes wide and desperate.  
"You have to _listen, _Rebekah!" Isaac's fingers tangled in her hair; Rebekah stopped struggling, lest he pull on it again. "Listen to me, just let me say what I need to say!"  
"This is insane!" She squirmed a little. Isaac was surprisingly heavy for his size. Rebekah couldn't wiggle out from under him.  
"No, not insane," he said softly, and leaned closer. "Rebekah, I need to tell you something. I _have _to. I've been trying, but I can't seem to get it out--"  
"So the logical thing is to jump me?" She laughed, but it was high and unnatural sounding. Isaac squinted coldly.  
"Just be _quiet," _he murmured. "Please, just be quiet and listen." Rebekah felt at her pocket and touched the knife handle lightly.  
"Lean back a little, Isaac," she said, and he did. "You see this?" Isaac's dark eyes flicked to her where her fingers were. Then they widened. "If you don't let me up," Rebekah said quietly, voice stone serious, "I'll use it. Much as I don't want to, I will." She was wildly hoping he wouldn't call her bluff -- if he did, what was she going to do? Beat him over the head with it and hope for the best?  
"Don't," he whispered, and swallowed. His eyes shifted back to her face. "Please."  
"Get off me, Isaac." Rebekah stared at him solemnly. There was a long pause. Isaac slowly began to back away -- and then he dove for her hand. His fingers clawed at hers, trying to wrestle the knife from her.  
"Give it to me, Rebekah!" he cried. She bucked violently and kept her grip tight.  
_"No!" _Her voice was high, nearly a shriek. _"Get off me, Isaac!"_  
_"Give me the knife!"_  
_"Stop it!"  
"GIVE IT TO ME!"_ Rebekah struggled wildly. Isaac wouldn't let go of her hand, and it was getting harder and harder to keep the non-existent blade hidden. Suddenly, she decided that it would be a better idea to try the ridiculous -- if she had to beat him with the the bare handle, she would. Rebekah pulled the handle from her pocket and raised it like a knife.  
  
And then Malachai was upon them.  
  
It was a flash of blade that told Isaac at first he was there. Malachai's much bigger body slammed into his and made Isaac grunt; he nearly went flying, but instead toppled backwards. Malachai was over Rebekah now. There was a cry, a swish of blade on air, and a sickening slice. Isaac's mind raced.  
(oh no oh no oh _god _no)  
"Malachai!" He scrambled forward and shoved the redhead aside. Rebekah lay unmoving on the ground, her eyes staring upwards blankly. Her chest heaved -- a blossom of blood was blooming rapidly on her shirt. "Oh God," Isaac gasped, fingers probing wildly over her face as if it would stop the bleeding. Malachai was silent behind them.  
"What--" Rebekah's chest hitched, and she turned her head to cough at the ground. There was more blood. "What hap--"  
"Sh," Isaac whispered, stroking her face and hair gently. "Sh, don't talk, we'll get you help." He searched his mind desperately. What was the word he was looking for? "A doctor! We'll get you a doctor, Rebekah, you'll be fine--" Her gray-blue eyes blinked confusedly.  
"Doctor?" Rebekah gasped, and smiled mirthlessly. "There aren't... any doctors... in Gatlin." Isaac felt the tears fill his eyes.  
"No, no," he pleaded. "No, please, don't--" She coughed again. The blossom of blood was reaching the sides of her shirt.  
"Should've... let me... go to the barn." Rebekah laughed, and the sound was dry and hollow. Isaac's throat tightened painfully.  
"I just wanted to tell you," he whispered, carressing the sides of her face tenderly. "I wanted to tell you I love you, Rebekah." She squinted a little.  
"Not that... hard to say," she concluded dimly, and coughed up more blood. Isaac sobbed hard.  
"No, no, you're going to be all right--" He kissed her lips softly, but whimpered when he tasted blood and death. "Please, Rebekah, _don't--"_  
"Isaac," she gasped, and then went limp. Her eyes froze, then became cool glass marbles.  
  
She was dead.  
  
Isaac stared at her in horror, then sobbed again.  
"I love you," he whispered, and kissed her cold lips for the final time. He didn't pull away for a long moment. When Isaac finally did draw back, he stroked her hair tenderly.  
"I only did as you asked," Malachai said from behind, quiet. Isaac's hands shook -- with rage or sorrow, he couldn't tell.  
"Refresh my memory, Malachai." He coiled a long strand of tarnished gold around his finger and stroked it lovingly with his thumb. "Did I ask you to murder the one I love? Because if I did, it surely must've slipped my mind."  
"You asked me to protect you!" he bellowed, getting to his feet. "You said to hide by the barn and see if she would get violent again! She raised a knife on you, Isaac!" There was a long pause. One hand still in Rebekah's hair, Isaac pried her fingers from the alleged knife. It had no blade.  
"She raised a knife _handle _on me, Malachai," he whispered, and laughed through his tears at the irony. The redhead went silent. "Oh, Rebekah," Isaac murmured, shifting his gaze back to her face. It was the color of porcelain, four jagged scratches marring the perfection like streaks of rust. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  
"I didn't mean to, Isaac," Malachai said softly.  
"So sorry," he repeated, and broke down completely.  
  
In the barn, the children heard a high, agonized scream. When the scream died, it was replaced by loud, racking sobs. It wasn't quiet for at least half an hour -- when Malachai finally dragged Isaac away from Rebekah's body.


	10. The Cleansing

--All done! I really enjoyed writing this one, and was even more thrilled when I saw how many people read it faithfully. Thanks to all who reviewed, and I'm open to comments, criticism, and ideas. I own Rebekah and the story, nothing more. Everything else belongs to my hero and mentor, Stephen King. Thanks to John Franklin and Ryan Bollman for inspiration! Love you all!--  
  
Isaac stood before the remaining children of Gatlin, small face solemn. He was as pale as a ghost with dark, heavy circles under his eyes -- he had not slept well last night.  
"The Lord has spoken to me," he said in a low, monotonous voice. "He has told me that he is displeased. He Who Walks Behind The Rows commands that we rid our houses of that which poisons our minds." The children watched in silence. Isaac's eyebrows twitched darkly; he looked down at the watchful faces and continued. "That is why I have had these things brought to me." A pale hand was motioned towards the pile behind him. It was a small mountain of objects: dolls, teddy bears, board games, records, radios, videos, coloring books, crayons, paperbacks. Malachai stood beside the heap, a torch in hand.  
"The Lord commands the cleansing," he said softly, and lapsed back into silence. Even Malachai was pale under his freckles.  
"And so it shall be," Isaac murmured. Malachai nodded, then tossed the torch onto the mountain of possessions. They began to blaze almost immediately; doll dresses went up in flame, teddy bears turned black. Everyone stared at the fiery pile for one long, awed moment. Then Isaac waved a hand at them. "Go now. The Lord must ponder this sacrifice." The children turned around and, in silence, filed out of the clearing. Amos approached Malachai and Isaac, who continued staring at the mountain of flame.  
"Isaac," Amos murmured.  
"Yes?" He slowly turned to look at the boy, who held a cardboard box towards him.  
"I brought you the things you asked for." Isaac shot Malachai a glance. The redhead took the box from Amos.  
"You may go," Isaac said evenly. Amos obeyed. There was a long, awkward silence as the objects burned and crackled. At last, when it was certain that they were the only two in the field, Isaac spoke again. "Show me what he found." Malachai dug through the box obediently.  
"A toy truck, a few picture books, some cassette tapes..." He tossed each object in the fire as he named it. "Coloring books, markers, and a book--"  
"Wait!" Isaac reached out towards Malachai and snagged his wrist before he could toss the book into the fire. "Let me see." He took the paperback from Malachai -- it was _The Picture of Dorian Gray. _A sob caught in his throat.  
"Shall I burn that, too?" asked Malachai softly. Isaac shook his head.  
"No," he murmured, and turned away from the fire. "No, I'll take this one."  
"Yes, Isaac." Malachai stood there in silence for a moment. "What shall I do about the children in the barn?"  
"Leave them alone." Isaac paused. "See that they get food every now and then." Malachai nodded.  
"Yes, Isaac." He hesitated, glancing at the fire. "Shall I go now?" Isaac stared at the paperback book, stroking the cover lovingly.  
"Yes," he whispered, eyes not leaving the book. "Leave me." Malachai didn't say any more; he left the cornfield in silence. Isaac stared at the paperback for a long time before he finally let out a shaky sigh. "I did what you wanted," he whispered to the night air. "I followed every order. Everything you asked, I obeyed. And I asked only one thing of you -- that you keep Rebekah safe and make her see that I love her." Isaac glared at the ground bitterly. "And you could do neither." He paused. "There is no reason that I should continue to be your tool. But there is also no reason that I should continue to live." Isaac lowered the book. "What's stopping me from jumping in there with the rest of the 'poisonous' things?" He closed his eyes and tilted his head, listening briefly to the silence. "The fact that you'll only find some way to turn it against me. Yes, I know that." Isaac exhaled slowly, deeply. "I am yours to command, O Lord -- but I will never forget this. It was not Rebekah who betrayed me, it was you." He swallowed back tears and let the book fall into the flames. "I love you, Rebekah," he murmured, and walked slowly towards the center of town. The fire had to be put out before it spread to the corn. In the flames, _Dorian Gray's _pages slowly curled, turned black, and vanished.  
  
Isaac's Gatlin was under control once again.


End file.
